


Anchored

by EmilyweepsforPilfrey



Series: Twissy Oneshots [5]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Blind!12, F/M, Harsh, I feel like this should come with all the warnings, It was canon compliant when I wrote it, It's 1am and I can't come up with a decent summary to save my life, Post- Oxygen, Pre- everything after Oxygen, Smut, Smutty, Weeks later it no longer is, completely appropriate use of mirrors, depictions of violence at times, that's how I would describe this in one word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyweepsforPilfrey/pseuds/EmilyweepsforPilfrey
Summary: Missy finds out the Doctor's blind. She helps him in her own special way.





	Anchored

He keeps his eyes shut.  

He knows he's not alone.  

His whole world is dark.   

He feels fingertips walking up his chest.  

He can’t see a thing.  

He feels fingers playfully bounce as they pass over his sternum.  

His four remaining senses are heightened in the fifth's absence.  

Then there's soft breath over his lips.  

He knows exactly who it is even before she speaks.  

" _Guess who, Doctor._ "  

He can feel her words on his lips and then he's crashing them into hers, kissing her hard and clutching at her like she's his sight.  

He doesn't realise there are tears slipping from his eyes. He wouldn't acknowledge them if he did.  

" _Oh, Doctor. My Doctor. What have they done to you?"_  

She pulls back to look at him and he's thankful that she understands without him having to say the words.  

She reaches out and he can feel her split second of hesitation.  

Then her fingertips are brushing over his eyelids with a gentleness he didn't think she was capable of.  

Every fibre of his being is alive under her touch.  

She pushes at his eyelashes and he knows she wants him to open his eyes.  

He won't do it. He can't bare for her to see his blank stare looking back at her.  

She's insistent.  

He obeys. (He always obeys.) 

She's silent, but he imagines her look of horror at the jarring sight of what has become of him.  

He starts to close his eyes, hide himself away in shame, but she's on him in an instant. Her lips smash into his and she clutches at his temples, the momentum caused by her enthusiasm making her body sway into his.  

And then he sees.  

Image after image floods his mind, transferred from her to him through the tips of her fingers.  

There's Gallifrey, there's the Academy. There's Earth and Pluto and P1427-84B. There's people, so busy, rushing by like ants. There's a president, falling to his knees as she kills him (he's not sure if she meant for him to see that one). There's sunrise and sunset and the three suns of Solis Tribus  all perfectly aligned in the sky. He sees himself, through her eyes, and he's never seen himself look so beautiful – dignified, regal and handsome.  

He claims her lips again and pushes closer to her, greedy, needy and ravenous.   

He sees her, her reflection in a mirror. She moves slowly, looking at herself and taking in the sight of the way her body looks as she twists and dips, dancing to a silent song. He likes what he sees; she liked what she saw. In the mirror, her fingers move to her buttons, deftly undoing them and starting to slip her shirt down her arms. The picture changes.  

The Doctor grasps at her hair, desperate for her to show him more. She giving him sight but it's not enough. He'll take it until he's had his fill. His hand's under her thigh, pulling it up until it's wrapped around him. It's still not enough.  

She's falling backwards and he's on top of her in an instant. The brief moment of darkness when they separated was too much for him. His hands are on her temples and he's taking her memories. He kisses her.  

Cars, busses, burning cities. Smoke rising and ashes floating to the ground.  

She gives it to him willingly, but it's not enough. He takes more.  

Laughter, children dying, maniacal laughter, the screams of dying people. Victory, joy, watch a survivor crawl out of the rubble and collapse to the ground, a bloody stump where his right leg once was. Watch him. Watch him beg. Watch him scream in agony. Watch him die. Scoff.  

See the people. Watch them play. See the joy turn to fear turn to horror as their world is taken over. Win. See the smoke cover the sunset as darkness falls. You win. I know. See the lover that's not him, sweaty palms all over her, touching what he once thought was only his. Feel her disgust as she pushes him down on the bed. See her claim his lips.  

The Doctor's teeth nip at her bottom lip, a reminder of who she gave her hearts to. She presses herself against him harder. Possessive on both counts. Her skirts are pushed to the side and he enters her, fast and rough and she cries out.  

See the enemies, the victims, see another that passes through her bed – or her through his, it's hard to tell when it all passes so fast. A shoulder, too muscular to be his. A breast – not hers. A finger she takes into her mouth. Frizzy golden hair that makes his heart skip a beat and then it all goes boom. Explosion. A bloodied hand falls in front of him. Fire, burning. The people scream. Running. Safety – it's nowhere. A Dalek eyestalk flies past. A gunshot. A falling body. Blood. On his hands. No, her hands. He's leaving her. He's stepping into his TARDIS. He's left. She falls to the ground and screams. He definitely wasn't meant to see this.  

It goes black.  

With an almighty shove, Missy pushes him onto his back so she's sitting astride him. She rolls her hips. Once. Twice. She reminds him who's in charge. Slowly, as she rides him, she reaches out running her fingers softly through his hair and down to his temple. He sees again. She's giving him sight. Soft blue. Gentle waves. A white sandy beach. Storm clouds approach. It's beautiful.  

He sees her, breasts free from the corset and bouncing as she moves atop someone. She looks straight ahead, a smile on her lips, eyes playful. Breathless, she mouths: _Doctor._   

It's then that he sees it, at the bottom of the picture, the thatch of fluffy grey hair. His hair. There's a mirror behind him. She smirks. _Clever, Doctor._  

With a cry and her head thrown back, she convulses around him. Blind, he feels it. He sees it through her eyes.  

She continues to ride him as she comes down and she wants him to see. Fingers still caress his temples, sending him the pictures she wants him to see. She keeps her eyes locked on the mirror. It's a show. All for him.  

She looks down and he sees himself: sweaty, dishevelled and lying breathless in ecstasy.  She wants him. She's already got him and she still wants him so bad. He feels it too. He comes with a silent shout. Mouth open. Eyes shut.  

And his world is black again.  

He feels her climb off him and hears the sound of her feet on the floor. Her hand brushes across his temple and he sees butterflies flutter by for a brief second.  

She takes her hand away and he wants to reach out and grasp her wrist, pull her back to him and make her give him sight again. But he knows he can't. He can't take it all from her. Like a starving man, he'll gorge himself until it kills him. He knows it, but the absence of his sight is still a harsh reality. Like he's floating without an anchor, he feels lost again.  

Maybe, just maybe, she'll give him vision again one day.  

"Doctor," she calls.  

He hears her.  

He walks toward the sound, caught by her hand as he approaches.  

He's anchored. 


End file.
